


Take this apple and give it a bite

by Lydia_Martin_trash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Cheating, Emotional Manipulation, Everybody Lives, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, authority kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 10:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/pseuds/Lydia_Martin_trash
Summary: Robb goes for a walk in the woods with his best friend. Theon goes for the oldest trick in the book.





	Take this apple and give it a bite

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Danielle and Luke for the wonderful beta work. You're life savers.  
> Mind the tags, people. Spoilers at the end for the feeble of heart.

Although he tries not to appear unseemly glad to leave Wylla's chambers and her presence, inside Robb feels like an enormous weight has lifted from his shoulders as soon as he crosses the doorway. His energetic lady wife is bedridden on Luwin's orders until she has borne their child, and it would be callous and ungrateful of Robb to abandon her to such a fate – heavily pregnant and miserable as she is nowadays.

Yet, the single hour he spends by her bedside in the afternoons sometimes feels like a whole day. Robb knows Wylla is grateful for the company, if only because his is a different face from her maids, ladies in waiting and good mother and sisters, but she too has grown disappointed in their short marriage rather quickly. When he takes his leave, they both sig h in relief. Day after day, Robb departs more often than not almost eager to go back to his other duties.

As he walks to Father's solar he already writes in his head the letters he must send, thinking of which hold-fast he must visit next and planning on how to best take advantage of the short sunlight they still have for the day, something  buzzes past his eyes and halts his steps. Sure enough, to his right, a good five feet in front of him an arrow has pierced the straw heart of a dummy. To his left, Theon smiles, smug and certain with his bow still held in position. Grey Wind sits by his feet, unbothered, and only stands up and walks towards Robb when Theon starts walking too.

“And what would you do if it was my heart you shot?” Robb asks as soon as his friend is near enough that his voice carries easily. He can't help smiling back; there's no one around the yard to reproach their easy camaraderie.

“I should weep to see you die, but I'd take comfort that I'd have taught you to mind your whereabouts at last,” Theon says, no sign of remorse on his beautiful face. In fact, he steps into Robb's space with an air of amusement. “My Lord Stark has been walking everywhere as if lost in dreams of late.”

Robb almost retorts that Theon can’t know how Father is walking, for he's been away for years now in the capital to serve as Hand to King Robert, having only visited briefly to see Robb wed and betroth Sansa to Smalljon Umber. He blushes the second he realizes who Theon is talking about.

“Don't you start with this Lord Stark shit too,” he complains. Grey Wind leaves Theon's side to sit by Robb and he takes the opportunity to scratch his head, more intently than necessary. “I forbid it. That's my Father's title still; it doesn't suit me now and won't for many years.”

“Why, I think this authority suits you rather well. But I'll say Lord Robb, if it bothers you so. Since you insist in ordering me around anyway.” Theon smirks, and goes to retrieve his arrow. He waits for Robb by the dummy's side, and surely, Robb's feet follow him the few steps without hesitation.

“Are you free to spend some time with your less commanding friends today, or must you return to your duties, Lord Robb?” Theon asks in his most petulant tone. His eyes, though... his eyes look pleading, wet and afraid, contradicting his words. They haven't spent as much time together since Robb married or since Robb came of age and started ruling in Father's stead, in truth, and Theon must be feeling the loneliness keenly to say anything at all.

Robb has so much to do today still. There's Jon's letter, with upsetting and strange news from the Wall; Father's letter talking about some Targaryen claimant appearing from the shadows just as Tywin Lannister has been defeated at least; and of course, the situation on the coast. There're the repairs of Wintertown to supervise and the harvest, maybe their last one before winter truly settles in. Robb has much to do, and precious little time as the sun sets earlier every day.

“What sort of friend tempts the other so blatantly?” he asks, already knowing he'll cave. He misses his friend's company sorely, and he has yet to find the limits of what he would do for Theon.

“The best sort.” Theon smirks, sensing his victory. He licks his lips like Robb's yielding tastes sweet, the bow of his mouth as dangerous as the one in his hand. Robb can almost taste the sweetness himself. “The sort you could never replace, my lord. Shall we go?”

He starts walking confidently, without waiting for an answer. Robb follows, falling into step with Theon easily, Grey Wind circling them at a lazy pace.

“The stables?” Robb asks, unsure. A ride would be wonderful, but it’s far too late in the day to have more than a short trip in the forest.

“Godswood,” Theon says. Robb snorts; for all Theon is too ironborn to truly worship the old gods, he spends more time by the heart tree than most northern.

At least no one will bother them there at this hour. The household is busy; Ser Rodrick is trying to teach Rickon the first steps of sword fighting, and Bran has taken to correcting his form from the wheeled chair Mikken made for him from the Imp’s designs; Arya will be in Septa Mordane's clutches until dinner, and Sansa has Mother, Wylla and her loyal court of ladies helping her embroider a complicate pattern in the dress she plans to wear on her upcoming nuptials.

There's no one to glower at Robb for this simple happiness, so he allows himself to stay nearer than he usually would. They walk alongside each other, too close to be truly comfortable, hands and shoulders brushing with every step.  As they go, t he feathers of Theon's arrows tickle Robb's wrist where his gloves are too short and Grey Wind makes more than one mock attempt at pouncing on the goose feathers.

“He's suddenly in a playful mood.” Theon says, raising his quiver above his hips with a smile as Grey Wind fakes another launch at it. As they enter the godswood, he guides Robb with a hand on his lower back, down one of the less used paths – the one that leads to what Robb fondly think of as their place, where they had gone to share secrets as boys but had neglected of late. “Not like the sad sack of fur that's been biting my heels these couple weeks.”

“He does that when he thinks I might leave him behind, too,” Robb replies. In fact, when he'd first put Grey Wind on Theon-duty two weeks ago the wolf had bitten a hole on his boot, though he hadn't drawn blood. “You should feel special. He doesn't show such affection to just anyone.”

“I'll be sure to inform my poor feet.” Theon laughs. He reaches their old weeping willow before Robb and pulls some of the branches aside for him like he is opening a golden curtain. “My lord first.”

Robb steps inside, and Theon after him, but Grey Wind lays down on a patch of sunlight and closes his eyes. Theon lets the branches fall and they block the view of the outside completely, the endings of the branches curling on the ground. There's enough space for two grown men to stand tall near the trunk, barely, but they walk hunched until reaching it; even then some yellow leaves touch the top of Theon's head and get tangled into his hair. Some are sticking out of it.

Before Robb can comment on it, Theon is climbing the tree. He signals for Robb to wait on the ground, and quickly disappears from view. Soon enough he is climbing down, a cloth-wrapped parcel with him. The smell coming from it makes Robb's mouth water, and his stomach grumbles loudly.

“Is that thunder? Mayhaps a storm approaches.” Theon smiles in triumph at Robb's blush. “Or was that Grey Wind howling outside?”

“You become funnier by the day.” Robb tries to will some dryness into his voice, but the corners of his mouth are turning upwards. He can't muster any anger at the teasing on a good day, and much less when Theon looks this content. “How long have you been planning this little outing?” He asks, confused but happy to let whatever trap Theon laid out for on him.

Together, they lay the cloth on top – one of Theon's softer fur capes – of the floor and sit down, sides glued to each other to fit into the little nook better. Theon opens the parcel, laying tarts and a bottle of Arbor gold before them on a napkin carefully. He lays his bow and quiver down even more carefully before speaking.

“I didn't plan it, though I hoped you'd walk by before I left the yard,” he says, taking his gloves off and reaching for a sweet. He takes a bite with a hand positioned under his chin, lest some crumble find its way into his precious clothes. “I just made a habit of coming here by afternoon end lately. Usually Grey Wind comes in too.”

“So your plan is to fatten my direwolf up?” Robb teases, grabs a tart and bites into it. He makes an appreciative sound when the taste of apples fills his mouth, and Theon hmms, a proud little smirk on the corner of his mouth.

“Not really. I just got some treats from the kitchen because Alyse is working there today.” He finishes the pie and goes for the wine, taking a large gulp that makes the delicate  apple of his throat bob, and passes Robb the bottle.

“Alyse, as in the candlemaker?” Robb asks between bites, faking a measure of calm even as a cold, sour feeling turns his stomach. “What business does she have in the kitchens?”

“No, Alyse as in the brewer's wife. You know the one.” Theon smirks and winks.

Robb accepts the bottle with less grace than he'd like and immediately drinks more than Theon did.

“I didn't know you ever came here alone,” Robb says, trying not to sound too bothered. It's just a patch of earth under a tree, after all, not even the most sacred place in the godswood; it would be childish to be hurt if Theon did come here alone, or with people.

With women.

“It's a new development,” Theon admits, shrugging, he reaches back to pat the trunk fondly. “I like this tree. We're both foreigners in this cold place, but we've both survived fine up to now.”

For a moment, Robb doesn't know how to reply. He looks at the tree, at the place where Theon's hand caress it so gently, thinking of what to say. It was a sapling when his Father's father brought it North in his youth, and though it has grown and flowered it is small and sickly compared to its kind living in warmer climates, he knows. There was no need to put it in the godswood instead of the glass gardens, but it was what Lord Rickard had done. As he thinks all this, a million words get stuck in Robb's throat and he finally settles for a piece of truth.

“Winterfell is a happier place from both of you being here.”  _A warmer, more beautiful place_ , he thinks, but can't bring himself to say so. He knows his cheeks are red, feels bared as a newborn, but it is worth it for the soft look Theon gives him.

“You've never sounded so much like a song before, I don't think.” Theon turns to face him and smiles. It's not his usual smile, though, but a gentle, hidden thing. He leans into Robb's space, black eyes locked into his until the tip of their noses touch. “I'll keep these words for myself only, lest your lady wife might grow jealous of such a tender sentiment.” Then he takes the bottle from Robb's hand and retreats to his own place. Only a few inches away; an insurmountable distance all the same. “Is Winterfell happier... or are you?”

The breath Robb lets out is loud and impossible to miss in the small space. Yet Theon ignores it, and drinks from the bottle again. He offers it to Robb, and he knows what a bad idea it is, knows how much there is to be done before the day is over, knows better than to get drunk when Theon is so close and in such a devastating mood.

He accepts the bottle, and they pass it back and forth until it's almost gone.

The silence is not tense, but there is something in the air between them. Robb can't name it. Winter is near, ready to fall upon them, but he feels warm, alarmingly so. Burning. The sunlight that filters through the heavy canopy above is orange. It's nearing the end of the day.

“Do you remember when we were boys, and we hid here after lessons? When Jon was sulking or the little ones didn't want to leave you alone?” Theon whispers, breaking the silence almost regretfully. He's not smiling anymore. Robb doesn't think he's ever seen him look more serious, and he is sure he is the only one who knows Theon can be serious at all.

“Of course. No one was ever able to find us here.” He tries to remain unsmiling for Theon's sake, but the memories make it difficult. He was  completely  happy then. It's strange to miss the place and the people in his mind when he has them right before his eyes, but he does. “It's our place,” he confesses.

“It is,” Theon agrees, and Robb feels elated at the simple words. Theon is oblivious, though, and goes on. “One time we stayed here well past sunset, remember? And we could hear people walking around and calling for us, but we stayed quiet.”

“You didn't want to leave.” Robb remembers the day too well, and its gloom. It was the day after Theon had first carried Ice for Lord Eddard Stark, to do the King's justice.

“And you humored me, as usual,” Theon replies. He looks at the ground intently, draws patterns in it. It soon turns into a kraken. Robb knows only because it’s the image embroidered in all of Theon’s doublets. “Oftentimes I think you're too good a friend for me. Better than I deserve.”

Robb takes the bottle back, drinks from it again. Drowning the words that want to escape his mouth and damn him. If he tells Theon that he does deserve the very best of him and also his worst, that nothing short of everything Robb has to give should be his, it'll only hurt more when it can't be.

“That day... when we left at last,” Robb whispers. He stares at the doodle on the ground, erases it with a brush of his hand. Theon doesn't protest, but turns his piercing black eyes to him. “It was selfishness that made me talk you into leaving. I only ever come here with you, you know? I heard the people outside talking about bringing out the dogs. I'd rather face them than have anyone else know of this place.”

Theon snorts, but the little smirk on his lips fades away quickly.

“I'm glad you did. I don't want anyone but the two of us here.”

Robb goes for the bottle again, but Theon reaches it first and holds it in his lap, arches an eyebrow like a challenge. Robb gives it up, stares at Theon trying to understand what feels so different about him today.

“You let Grey Wind come here, though.” He points out, trying for a laugh; it comes weak and dies before putting a gleam of humor in Theon's eyes.

“He’s like you, but in wolf skin.” Theon says. He puts the bottle by his gloves, letting it fall and spill what is left of the wine into the earth. “I feel nearly as at ease with him as with you.”

“I'm glad. I know we... he can be ferocious.” Robb fidgets with his own gloves, keeps his hands busy lest they reach for Theon. He has grown his dark hair to the middle of his back, and the leaves poking from it make him look like a wood sprite. “The household is afraid of him. Wylla, too.”

“There's nothing to fear from someone ferocious, if they love you well,” Theon replies. He sounds so certain that for a moment Robb wonders if he is still talking about Grey Wind, if he guesses the truth at all. “That's why you left him by me of late, isn’t it so? To discourage anyone looking to bother me.”

Robb can feel his cheeks burning at being found out so easily. When Asha Greyjoy's letter had reached Winterfell a few months ago informing them of Lord Greyjoy's sudden death, she had made it clear that she was now the ruling Lady of the Iron Islands, and Theon had her permission and blessing to start his own branch house in the North. She’d even suggested her brother be married to the youngest of Lord Stark’s daughters to seal an alliance between their houses, as if she had the authority to make such negotiations. Maester Luwin had thought wise to keep Theon with then and wait for the King to send word instead of acting immediately. Why send what remained of their forces out to the sea, uncertain of their welcome with winter looming close over them? Mother and his Lady wife both had agreed, and even Robb could see the truth in Luwin's words however much he'd like to help Theon.

But either what control Lady Asha had over the Greyjoy seat was not as uncontested as she had lead them to believe, or she had never meant to honor what agreement they might reach. Soon the ironborn were raiding the war-torn West, spots of the Reach and even the North. Though the attacks were scattered and often easily repelled once the initial surprise had worn off, Robb had taken pains to write Asha Greyjoy and his Lord Father naming Theon the rightful Lord of the Iron Islands, Lord Reaper of Pyke. He'd even written King Robert directly, however different in tone, to suggest it would be wiser to reinstate Theon than to cut his head off.

King Robert had deemed his word worth something, to Robb's relief, but what little respect Theon had been granted at Winterfell before had bled away in the months between his sister's usurpation and the first raids. A fortnight ago, Victarion Greyjoy had tried and failed to take Moat Cailin, and hostilities had risen to the point almost no one would speak to Theon anymore.

Robb had bid Grey Wind stay by his side and guard him, in his fear the jabs and comments might turn into real violence. To keep him company, he'd told Theon. Robb was enough of an accomplished liar that he'd thought he'd fooled him.

Apparently it wasn't so.

“I'd only wanted to make your life easier.” There is nothing to do but admit to the truth now. Theon will be hurt if he keeps lying, and Robb does not want to, in any case. He’s unused to lying to Theon, except for his most intimate feelings and the wolf dreams. He makes himself look at the golden leaves in Theon's hair instead of the sad turn of his mouth. “Has it worked, at least?”

“To a point.” Theon blinks at him. Suddenly his usual trained smile is back in his lips, taunting Robb. “I do appreciate you going to the trouble, Lord Robb.”

Maybe it is the tone of his voice, sultry and low even compared to Theon's usual purr, or the way he stretches on the fur then, resting on his elbows and flowing  – liquid and languid. The words  _Lord Robb_ make blood rush to his groin. Desire burns him from the inside. The illusion he tries to cling to every moment they spend together, that Theon does not have this effect on him, shatters in the fading orange light.

“I told you, no need to call me that.” He goes for authoritative, but his voice is quiet; inside he is hesitant. He knows all too well, looking at the bow of Theon's mouth, at his long neck and his soft hair, how he'd like to truly be his liege and more, to have the right to just take him, to make Theon want him back.

“You bid me to not call you Lord Stark, actually.” Theon smirks, tilting his head and looking at Robb expectantly.

Robb can feel himself failing to grasp something in this conversation, something Theon is waiting for. He would honestly say he is being seduced, if the concept was not so impossible. He has seen Theon flirt and woo more wenches than he’d like, and he's much more aggressive. The way he looks lying on the fur, inviting and vulnerable, like Robb could just lay over and hide him from the world...

This is Robb's secret fantasy playing out before his eyes, but it is not intentional on Theon's part, he knows. He has learned over time that he just finds most everything Theon does either sensual or endearing, even common things like lacing his boots, or the time he slipped on ice and fell on his ass. Robb knows the wanton look on Theon's black eyes is just his imagination.

But the effect is real enough. He can feel himself turning red, and his pants feel tighter by the second.

He scrambles for a change of subject, and his eyes land once more on the leaves peaking from Theon's hair. For a heartbeat, he forgets his arousal and lets his heart fill with tenderness at the sight.

“You have something here.” He points at his own hair.

“Not a bug?!” Theon frowns, combs his shiny black hair with his fingers. Nothing comes out. He looks at Robb expectantly, and Robb has to laugh at his pout.

“Don't worry, it's just some leaves.” He crosses his legs to hide his groin better, leans into Theon and reaches for the leaves. He picks one and shows him. “See? The tree likes you too.”

Theon snorts. He looks into Robb's eyes and Robb feels a little faint. It's almost like there is an invisible force pulling him towards Theon. The closer they are, the closer Robb wants to be. He has to make a conscious effort not to lean into him more and breathe him in.

Robb picks off all the leaves, combing Theon's hair away from his dark eyes, just because he can. It feels soft and silky in his hand, even through his gloves, he wants badly to pull it, to wrap it around his fingers and take it to his nose. He knows Theon uses a bit of scented oil in his hair from time to time, but he can't identify any specific smell from this far, just knows it smells good.

“I must have had a whole forest on my head,” Theon says, smirking. Robb smiles back, swallowing both his arousal and his embarrassment down, and starts to pull away, but Theon stops it with a hand to his wrist. “Don't stop. I like it.”

Given permission, Robb keeps brushing Theon's hair with shaking hands. He was less nervous, he believes, on his wedding night. Mayhaps even on the eve of his first battle, when he had led Father's vassals down the Neck to relieve Riverrun from the Kingslayer's siege.

Theon closes his eyes and sighs, head leaning into Robb's hand when he dares to drag his gloved nails on the scalp. He scratches the back of Theon's neck in jest, expecting a remark that Theon wasn't a dog nor a direwolf, but Theon turns to Robb with half-lidded eyes.

“Take your gloves off?” He asks in a hoarse whisper.

Robb hastens to comply, biting the leather and throwing the gloves near Theon's bow. Theon chuckles, baring his neck more and humming low in his throat when he feels Robb's naked fingers.

“My arm is getting tired.” Robb complains, though what he is thinking is that his heart might burst from his chest any second now. His ears are buzzing and he's fully hard in his pants. He almost misses Theon's words.

“Weak.” He teases with a smirk. But he seats himself back up, forcing Robb to lean away, turns just enough to give Robb his back, and then reclines his weight over Robb’s chest with barely a look for permission. “Better now? Keep going.”

Robb obeys, hoping Theon misses the way his whole body trembles from the effort of not holding him. This close, with every breath he lets out making Theon’s hair fly, he can identify the scent of his hair as something fresh and musky.

“I swear, you’re the most spoiled man who has ever stepped foot in these woods,” Robb says, smiling a bit at the indignant humph Theon lets out.

He is heady and stupid from the smell of him and the warmth resting against his chest. He forces himself to concentrate on the silken feeling of Theon’s hair on his fingers, or he’ll do something there’s no turning back from.

“It’s because I was a prince for a season.” His voice sounds hoarse still. Robb can’t see his face like this, only a sliver of his forehead and the tip of his nose, but he pictures it easier than breathing in his mind: closed eyes, eyelashes caressing his skin like a closed fan, mouth wet and smiling mockingly. “I have lost the title, but princely manners are harder to lose.”

“Mayhaps you’d be able to lose them if you didn’t cling to them so,” Robb says, though privately he enjoys the air of importance Theon puts on. More than one of his Father’s men had tried to beat the pride out of him when he had been a child, but none had succeeded.

“I don’t cling to them. If I’m spoiled, surely I have someone who spoils me.” Theon shifts slightly, letting his cheek rest on Robb’s chest, over his heart. He exhales when the pads of Robb’s fingers find the shell of his ear. “Do you know who the guilty party is, Lord Robb?”

Robb clears his throat, looking up to the canopy of yellowing leaves above them when Theon shifts again to look at him.

“I must confess, sometimes I allow my kindness to run too wild.” He looks down when Theon’s laughter finds him, loud and crystalline. His dark eyes shine with mirth. “But it’s only proper. I’m told a lord is below a prince in all things.”

“Not in all things,” Theon says, voice low and smooth. There’s a hint of malice and sweetness on his breath when it brushes Robb’s mouth, and his imagination takes a delirious turn to places it never goes to in the daylight, or in anyone’s presence. His cock throbs, and he can’t help the thrill warming his blood even as Theon goes on. “My lord will spoil me, but he won’t answer a simple question.”

“What is it?” He rasps, dread and anticipation mixing inside him.

“Are you happier from me being here?” Theon asks, searching Robb’s eyes with his own.

There’s something vulnerable under the victorious arch of his eyebrow, hiding in the blackness of his iris. Robb wants to kiss the shadow of doubt away from Theon’s mouth. He lets the pads of his fingertips ran outside Theon’s ear, to his cheek and jaw, tipping his head up just a little.

Theon does not flinch, nor laugh. He does not turn away. His gaze leaves Robb’s to glance at his mouth and rest there, eyes half-lidded and tongue wetting his lips like an after-thought, leaving them wet and red. Robb is right, after all: he is being seduced.

A part of him protests, screeches at him, for this is too good to be true, and Theon would never. Not when all he has left is his pride and Robb’s friendship.

_Those who have nothing left, have nothing to lose_ , Robb thinks. He dares to imagine that, mayhaps, Theon has even always felt as Robb does too. The hope inside him suddenly burns so high it hurts and draws his chest so tight it stumps any warning without protest. Of the two of them, it’s Robb who has everything to lose, but if everything is the price he must pay to have Theon, he’ll pay gladly and call it cheap.

He nods silently, not trusting himself to speak, not even to move too much. Not before Theon asks for it.

“Robb, I could make you happier still,” Theon whispers, and closes the distance between them, brushing their lips softly.

For a heartbeat, Robb stands frozen, feeling the shape of Theon’s smile against his lips. But it doesn’t last, and soon he kisses back, open-mouthed and frenzied until Theon opens his mouth and lets Robb drink the taste of him.

At last... No late night fiction can compare to the reality of kissing Theon breathless. When the need for air separates them, Theon’s eyes reflect the same animal hunger Robb feels spilling from his every pore. He groans when Robb pulls at his long hair and makes him bare his throat for bites and scorching kisses.

This fever has always been inside him, Robb knows, though he has always done his best to keep it in check. Unleashed, he surprises himself with the intensity of it. He pulls at Theon’s clothes, rips more than one satin piece, uncaring, half expecting complaints that never come. The desire is almost all-encompassing; he wants to consume Theon, to possess him and be possessed in turn, to be one with him and live and die hidden in the shade of the willow.

Theon undresses him too, frantic and made clumsy by want. He licks and bites at Robb’s chest, claws at his stomach and belt until Robb pulls him by the hair again and makes him lie down on the ground, over his cape and their thrown away clothes.

Robb knows Theon is beautiful. It’s just a feature of him, much like his taste for fine jewelry or his dark humor .  But it nearly undoes him, how pretty he is looking up at Robb with a wanton look that would shame the loosest whore in Wintertown, face and chest pink, cock pinker and hard, a drop of seed leaving the head wet and sticky.

“You want to make me happy, you said,” Robb rasps, not recognizing nor worrying about the commanding edge to his voice. He can hardly affect it when he needs, but now, sat between Theon’s legs, it comes easily. “You want to please me.”

Theon licks his lips and nods eagerly. Robb lets his hands travel on his body, watching in amazement as Theon’s closes his eyes and arches into his touch when he first strokes his cock. He jerks it, though the familiar movement is made new by the awkward angle, until Theon is chanting  _yesyesyes_ and rolling his hips up, chasing the pleasure that Robb is giving him. Robb takes his hands away just as he’s growing frenetic, readying to spill.

His hand immediately goes to his dick, and Robb bats it away with a smirk. Theon opens his eyes to glare at him, goes so far as to sit up. Robb allows it and the angry kiss Theon takes from him, but soon he pushes him back down and keeps him pinned by the neck.

He waits until Theon’s breath is less labored to start touching his cock again, staring straight into his black eyes all the while, though this time he just plays with the head, spreading the moisture.

“If you want to please me, be good and keep laying down,” Robb says. The hand on Theon’s neck goes to his cheek and Robb dips two fingers into Theon’s open mouth experimentally, biting back a groan when he sucks on them. He lets go of Theon’s cock and pulls his breaches loose before the order leaves him. “Open up for me.”

Theon obeys, and that alone sends a thrill of anticipation through Robb. They both know Theon enjoys being contrary just to annoy people, to be a pain, but you’d never know it by the way he yields to Robb  – so meek and tame. He accepts it when Robb climbs on top of his chest, mouth open and wet, even nudging Robb forward by the legs when he hesitates.

That’s all the encouragement Robb needs.

He bites his fist to keep from coming all over Theon’s face when he starts sucking on the head. Robb has done something like this before, it shouldn’t be this good this fast, but gods, it is. He can barely stop himself from burying his cock down Theon’s throat, settling for fucking in and out in a shallow motion. It drags on the roof of Theon’s mouth, on the inside of his cheek, never too deep. Theon doesn’t make it any easier, because he sucks on Robb’s cock like it’s some delicious treat, tongue lapping at the slit and the vein on the underside every chance he gets. Soon his eyes begin to water. His cheeks are hollow and the wet slurping sounds shouldn’t be erotic, but they are. Robb forgets himself, and it takes Theon starting to choke for him to come back to his senses.

Robb pulls back and watches Theon coughing with a mix of desire and dread, fearing to hurt him even as his cock jumps at the sight of his lips bruised red.

Theon’s hands are still moving on his legs, dragging nails up and down until they find Robb’s ass and try to pull him back in, mouth open and waiting. Robb gives him only two fingers to suck on, but Theon bites lightly at them instead, frowning in irritation.

“If you make me ask for it...” he threatens, voice rough, and gives Robb another light pull and leans his head forward as much as he can.

It’s not enough, though he manages to lick at the tip. Robb shudders and nearly rolls his hips forward, but catches himself at the last moment and doesn’t budge. Instead, he lowers himself to kiss Theon, taking savage pleasure in tasting himself on Theon’s tongue.

He lets himself explore Theon’s body. He kisses all over, from behind his ears to the dimples at the base of his spine, the soft skin behind his knees. He marks him everywhere; eager for people to know Theon’s taken. Theon is a sobbing mess by the time Robb is kissing and sucking at his feet, but Robb doesn’t take Theon’s cock in hand again, nor lets him do it. He wants this to last, in case whatever madness has fallen over them never returns. He wants to be overwhelmed and consumed, for Theon to join him in this, not to give him relief, not yet.

Robb is pleased to see that Theon stays hard, cock dripping on his precious clothes when Robb puts him on his stomach. Even when he’s rough, even when he’s sharp, Theon keeps reaching for him, eyes as hungry as Robb feels. He is enjoying Robb’s rough treatment a great deal, to judge by his reactions alone and that spurns Robb on even more. He can’t conceal his moans and gasps when Robb pushes his face on the ground, doesn’t so much as try. Instead, he pushes his round ass higher in the air, offer unmistakable. Robb can’t believe the heat surging in his veins right now, but it’s mirrored in Theon’s face when he spies Robb from where he’s braced on his forearms on the ground.

Robb wants to fuck Theon. Badly. The intensity of having him there, offering himself for real and wanting it makes every stray fantasy Robb ever made up pale in comparison. But he has no intention to; he’s not such a green boy he thinks he won’t hurt Theon with just spit, not when night is falling over them and time is running short. But he’ll savor this and do the next best thing.

He squeezes the back of Theon’s neck one last time, pets the line of his spine down until he’s fondling his ass, filling his hands and pulling the cheeks to lick from the taint to his puckered hole. The groan Theon lets out is so high Robb catches himself responding in kind, the sound of blood rushing through his body leaving him deaf to anything other than Theon’s voice. He’s so turned on that he nearly dismisses the oily feeling coating his tongue. It’s a whole minute before he catches on.

Robb pulls back with a last soft, amused kiss to Theon’s ass, but just enough to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, when he tries to slip a finger inside with nothing but a little spit it goes in easily, far too easily for just what they’ve done so far. Soon he has another in, and another yet.

Theon’s protests die in his throat. Robb watches, fascinated at the closed-eyed profile of his face as he opens his mouth in a silent moan, too overwhelmed with pleasure to even voice it properly. And it’s pleasure, Robb is sure, because he canters his hips up, trying to push himself more on Robb’s fingers with no hesitation.

“You hoped I’d walk by,” he says, smirk coloring his voice. “You’ve said so yourself.”

Theon’s eye flies open at once, and Robb can see the hint of embarrassment in them when their stares lock. It’s too good to pass up. For all Theon’s been a hostage all this time, they’re equals in all that matters. Robb’s never had him at his mercy before.

He leans forward to whisper in Theon’s ear even as he fingers him open, mixing the words with licks and the suggestion of teeth on his lobe.

“Are you ashamed of loving it? Or only of getting caught?” He asks, voice soft as sin. It’s the tone of voice he learned from Theon himself, from his tall tales of bedding wenches, widows and married women. It fills Robb with a dark satisfaction to turn it on Theon now, to be the one undoing him with delight. The sight of Theon biting his lips to keep a broken moan in makes him elated and cruel. Robb doesn’t expect an answer, but he wants it. “Did you think of me walking by while you fucked yourself loose, love?”

Robb leans back to watch Theon’s hole opening for his fingers one last time. Then he pulls them out and rubs the head of his cock right over it, leaving a smear of pearly seed.

It’s worth the wait, to ignore the want eating him from the inside, because Theon takes the waiting as a declaration.  _He has always been too impatient_ , Robb thinks fondly.

“I did, I did, I thought of you!” he cries, rolling his hips and making Robb’s cock slide up and down between his cheeks, but nothing more. “I always think of you, Robb, please!”

“As I think of you,” Robb says, but he’s suddenly too choked up too say anything else. He can only lean forward again, covering Theon’s back with his chest, shielding him from the world and kissing soothingly at his nape. He kisses his ear, his jaw and bites on the shoulder as he stills Theon’s hips with both hands, slipping inside in a swift motion.

There’s no cry of pain, barely any discomfort. Theon starts moving to meet his trusts almost at once and Robb lets go of the last of his restraint, the last of his control, and fucks into the tight heat around his cock.

He’s never known anything like this before. The ecstasy is almost more than he can bear, more than his body can even understand but the urgency, the need, feels impossible to abate. Even as he fucks Theon, kisses him and marks him inside and out, he craves more. Robb wants to know Theon is the same.

Robb loves the way Theon feels under him, how he takes both their weights so beautifully and opens himself up for Robb but he grabs him by the arm and makes him get up all the same. With the two of them kneeling on the ground, torsos upright and back to chest, Theon is that little bit taller  – not even half a head. He fits perfectly on Robb’s lap though, just right to turn his face and kiss Robb’s mouth wet and dirty.

The angle makes Theon wild, lost in sensation, and Robb feels himself getting lost in turn. Theon breaks the kiss up, stopping Robb’s hand wandering from his thigh to his cock. It’s still hard but cherry red now; Robb wants to touch it again, to suck it like Theon sucked his own and watch as he comes apart.

“Robb, please, I’ll spill if you do,” he whines, voice thin and breathless, either in warning or invitation.

Robb doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. He has never loved Theon more than in this moment. Robb would follow him anywhere. It’s overwhelming, it’s hopeless, but he is lost to it and the emotion fills him to burst. He won’t last long either, so he whispers his want onto Theon’s ear.

“Spill, then, Theon. Do it for me, yes? You said you wanted to make me happy. Spill for me,” Robb says, trembling with need.

Theon calls his name weakly but the hold on Robb’s hand is strong. He takes his cock in his own hand and keeps riding Robb until his legs are shaking too much to go on. He comes with a strangled cry and Robb wants to see him, witness the bliss reflecting on his beautiful face and know he is the one who put it there. But he’s lost in it himself as Theon clenches around him, taking him over the edge.

They collapse over the stained clothes, limbs entangled. Breathing is hard. Robb’s heart beats so fast he fears it might stop, but he’s smiling like a fool as he watches Theon’s back heaving up and down. Slowly, he moves the smallest fraction away, pulls his cock out and is embarrassed and triumphant as a green boy to see a trickle of his seed dribbling from Theon’s ass.

Theon rolls on his back, and he’s smiling too, the sweet shy smile only Robb knows. It turns wicked when he sees Robb’s face, bright and red, and he laughs.

For a joyous moment, they are the entire world.

“Too late to be abashed now, Lord Robb,” Theon mocks, but it lacks his usual poison.

_And so it’s Lord Robb again already_ , Robb thinks.

Robb covers the space between them, takes Theon’s face into his hand and kisses him goodbye. So this is what making love is really like. Not the duty shared with his lady wife, nor the fleeting pleasure given for coin. All the songs, the stories, the princes who started wars for their ladies, it all makes so much more sense now. Robb can understand how so many people go mad for it.

He ends the kiss as softly as he began; brushing his lips on Theon’s.  Robb takes a while to open his eyes. When he does, Theon is looking at him with some of that painful vulnerability in his dark eyes again. It hurts Robb to look at it.

They stay still, just looking at each other until there’s hardly any light filtering on them from the canopy of the leaves above. Robb can hear a rustling from the outside world and he knows at once that Grey Wind is up from his nap.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, finger caressing Theon’s face. The pad brushes his forehead, going down to his nose and finally resting on his lower lip. “You did please me, after all. What would you have of me?”

Others may have the grace to look ashamed at such a direct confrontation. Not Theon. He looks regretful for a heartbeat; the next one, his expression turns to stone. Robb might as well be holding a statue. A living, breathing statue that has his heart in its cold grasp.

“Send me back to Pyke.”

Robb blinks at him, shocked in spite of himself. It should have been obvious from the beginning, for what else could be Theon’s request? What else would he sacrifice so much for? Robb opens his mouth, but no word leaves his lips. There are no words.

“Send me to Pyke, Robb,” Theon says again, though the commanding tone falters. He’s too soft, even now, to demand what should be his given right.

As he says the words, he insinuates himself further into Robb’s arms. Robb knows Theon enough to realize the search for warmth, for protection, is as real as it is unintended. These are all things Robb would be glad to give him, and more, but not what he seeks.

“Ask for anything else, Theon.” Robb lets go of him and sits up. Theon imitates him, eyes piercing with restrained fury when he looks at Robb. “You know I cannot.”

Robb refuses to look back at him. He means to sound reasonable, though he knows in his heart of hearts nothing about this situation is reasonable. Not Theon’s request, his methods or Robb’s denial. Not the circumstances that lead them to the edge of this crossroads.  _Others take my eyes, our fathers’ sin and we suffer for it_ , Robb thinks.

“You’re the only one who can!” Theon pleads, stony facade already cracking. Robb smiles sadly and imagines him among seasoned raiders, imagines that his people are as cruel and terrible as all say and feels like crying.

“I am the Lord of Winterfell on my Father’s behalf while he is away,” he says by way of explanation. The Stark of Winterfell might be able to deny Theon what Robb would never. He even chances to look at Theon. “The honor of my house falls on my shoulders–”

“If you’re Lord of Winterfell, I am the Lord Reaper of Pyke! You said so yourself when you wrote that oaf of a king! I mean to take my place!” Theon cuts him off angrily. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. Soon he opens them again, no doubt hoping to look calmer, more in control.

It fails in a spectacular fashion. He might have fooled others, but not him. Robb knows Theon better than anyone else, better than Theon supposed he does. He watches silently with mounting dread as Theon recomposes himself and plaster his brave fake smile on his face.

“Asha’s hold isn’t secure, or she’d have sent for me,” Theon says, like he believes matters to be truly that simple. Robb bites his tongue to keep his opinions on Asha Greyjoy to himself. “I can win my seat back, but I have to get to Pyke before anyone calls for a kingsmoot  – while this is a Greyjoy affair. Victarion is an idiot, Aeron a drunkard turned holy, and Euron has to be fish food somewhere or he’d have shown his ugly snout by now. They’re not likely to trouble me just because they trouble Asha. Let them fight each other until they tire, and there won’t even be much left for me to do when I land on Lordsport.”

“Theon.” Robb tastes the name on his tongue, sweet as ever, sweeter now he can pair it with the taste of Theon’s kisses and wonders where to start unraveling the dreams Theon is clinging to for dear life. So many loose threads ready to be pulled. “Hush.”

It should be easier now, after Theon has planned to use him so, having to hurt him back. Robb supposes he should like to hurt him; that it would be the natural reaction. But whatever twisted pleasure he might have felt washes away at the stricken look on Theon’s face hearing that simple word.

Theon looks at him like Robb is the betrayer between them.

He looks away, to the angry fist Theon holds the fur of his cape with. Fifteen years they have known each other and fifteen years Robb has loved Theon in some fashion. Robb has always hated how needlessly cruel the folk of Winterfell could be to him, from vicious japes at his expense and malicious gossip about his people to beatings over nothing at all. It had baffled him that Father wouldn’t take notice of this, that Mother would purposefully ignore it. But they had, and only Robb had been witness to Theon’s ugly crying when they were alone, oftentimes under this very willow.

He had sworn to himself he’d never be the reason for Theon crying, but no amount of avoidance can mask the sounds of sobbing so close.

“If I were to send you back now, I might as well open your throat while you sleep,” Robb says. “We can’t spare the men to reinstate you and we can’t trust Lady Asha has not ordered the attacks on the coast to have you killed.”

“Asha wouldn’t. She’d want me back, if she could spare it. She’s my sister,” Theon says, voice steady despite the hitching on his breathing.  I t hurts Robb to hear him sounding so certain of a sister who would bargain his life for a chance to rule.

“You can’t know that,” he says, looking back at him at last. There are tears pooling on Theon’s eyelashes and he stares at Robb’s face, unblinking, so that they won’t fall. “But you can know for sure someone here wants you.”

The smirk that takes his face is so large some tears fall after all, but they turn to tears of anger before reaching the corner of Theon’s mouth.

“And people call  _me_ arrogant. You really think you cock is worth a kingdom, Lord Robb?” He throws the words for them to cut like daggers; Theon has been a marksman for as long as Robb can remember. “That I should be thankful to stay here and act your whore while your wife is too heavy with child to have you on her bed?”

“Theon, it’s not a matter o–” Robb tries, despairing even though he knew where this was leading for some time. He’s nearly grateful that Theon interrupts again.

“I won’t die on this frozen wasteland, not even for you! I won’t have people spit on me my whole life!” he yells, and the light of the day extinguishes in the silence that follows.

Robb can’t see Theon anymore but he guesses the way his chest heaves up and down, helpless with anger; he’s seen it before. He hears as Theon turns to the trunk of the willow and hits it again and again. Robb finds him in the darkness and holds him to his chest, hands on his wrists until Theon stops trying to fold into himself.

“Please, let me go home,” Theon whispers, going lax in his arms, all strength gone. He tucks his head under Robb’s chin and Robb can feel the tears flowing at last. They wet Theon’s face and the skin of Robb’s neck, falling warm and endless. “It’s not fair! Please, I gave you what you wanted.”

_So this is how I lose you_ , Robb thinks, letting go of Theon’s wrists and hugging him proper, close and tight. He pets his hair as Theon  returns the embrace , clawing at his back and sobbing his throat raw in his arms.  _Not to marriage or distance or disgust. To love._

They stay there a long time, until Theon has no tears left. Then there’s nothing to do but pick themselves up and go back. They make the trek to the castle hand in hand, with Grey Wind showing the way.

When they part, Robb doesn’t know if he’ll ever have the occasion to visit the willow again.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Theon sleeps with Robb in exchange for his freedom. That's the gist, folks.  
> Let me know if I'm missing a tag.  
> Comments are much appreciated. I've been working on this for over a year and had to write half the sex scene listening to this super sexy song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmeKh6jv0pc) thanks to my neighbor, so let me know I didn't suffer for nothing.  
> Also, I'm rainhalydia on tumblr until it dies.


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